Stephen King, I'm calling you the hEcK oUT!

How dare you, how DARE YOU.

This has caused me a great deal of emotional torment for years, before I ever even heard about any of your books or read them. People were always like "omg, Stephen king this, Stephen King that. He's the best. Simply the best there is," "Even Chuck Norris writes books about Stephen King," and the dreaded aside of "Stephen King is pretty cool."

Now I've picked one of "these" "so-called" "books" "up." Happened to flip through it. Now, now I am pissed. Who gave yOu the right to do this. Who gave you the right, wHO, because I will find them and get right up in their face and then give them the biggest bear hug ever.

You hear that, Mr. King????!!¡¿!¿!?¿¿ Fight me. FighT MEEe,, 1v1! One of these days ur gonna get what's coming to you, and you'll understand, the depths of my burning, rage-fuelled respect.

You absolute hecker.

I'm paying Renji's bounty to Renji, as he sacrificed himself for the good of the Omniverse.

http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?...#pid117313

For story purposes, the money has been paid to "Kuzuru and the Ashen Blades".

For OOC purposes I prefer it just go directly to him.

TRANSFERING 1000 OM FROM LUCI TO RENJI

Name: Alex Mercer
Spent OM: 5300
Consumed OM: 0
Proficiencies (1000): Physical Strength (1000)
Powers (3700/8000): Basic Regeneration (1800), Basic Super Jumping (300), Insight (1600)
Moves (600): Claws (300), Hammerfist (300)
Super Moves (0):
Transformations (0):
Assists (0):
Items:
Artefacts:
Bases:
Unlocks (0):
Base stats:
ATK: 4
DEF: 3
SPD: 2
TEC: 1

Attached Files

  Alex.Mercer.full.672539.jpg (Size: 144.45 KB / Downloads: 1193)
  Alex.Mercer.full.672539.jpg (Size: 144.45 KB / Downloads: 1192)

Quote:Mikey the Lightfoot walks slowly around a cramped compartment on the T5 Reading Westbound train, his yellow eyes slowly scanning the walls for graffiti.

Like most Lightfootz, Mikey is a half orc, mostly human looking but green skinned and with small tusks jutting from his mouth. The Lightfootz gang is comprised of apprentice magic users employed by Orc Mafia as couriers, spies, and graffiti vandals. They use graffiti to show the strength of the Orc Mafia, as well as to communicate with each other and spy on their enemies. They have been engaged in a shadow war with Luci and the Hufflepunks, each side using their magical graffiti to spy on each other. They have also been charged with protecting the Orc Mafia’s presence on the trains of Eastside Tier-5.

Tonight Mikey is trying to focus on his mission, trying to keep his graffiti wards up and running to hide his compartment from the prying magical eyes of the Westside, but he cannot help but be distracted by the company of the train compartment, and it’s collective smell.

The T5 Eastsyd Gangsta Ork Warryorz are in the house.

Nearly twenty of the hulking leather-clad ork bikerz stand shoulder to shoulder, swords clinking against guns as they growl at each other. Mikey knows some of them by reputation. Tiny Argah, known for slaying the Sprinkles the Ewok in single combat, stands tall and silent in the back holding his double-headed battleaxe over his head to make room. On the opposite side is Warslut, the female orc famed for holding the 7th Street Bridge alone against a pack of knife ears. She lost a hand in the battle, but it has since been replaced with a machine gun. Though the gang is cramped, they create a wide circle around their Prezident.

Jarl Elfbane, Prezident of the T5 Eastsyd Gangsta Ork Warryorz, is a black-furred ork instantly recognized by the necklace of gold-coated elf and human ears around his neck. Jarl is one of the most respected bikerz in the Orc Mafia, and a veteran of countless coruscant battles, but most famously the battle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

The rumble marked a turning point in the last war between the Orc Mafia and the Westside, when the Westside met an entire train full of Orcs at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The Orcs were unable to break through the lines, and were forced to retreat onto the Eastbound train. The battle would go down in history as one of the bloodiest losses the Orc Mafia has ever suffered.

And now tonight, they are going into Platform Nine and Three Quarters again.

It is understandable then, that Jarl is a bit jumpy when Mikey’s dog starts barking.

“Shut up!” Mikey snaps to his dog quickly, and the barking stiffles to a low growl. Mikey sweats as he feels Jarl’s eyes on him, but he walks over to his dog Twitch.

Twitch is not an ordinary dog, but a graffiti dog. Twitch is Mikey’s familiar, a two dimensional red outline of a jack russel terrier that lives in the Graffiti Plane, transporting messages for Mikey and keeping an eye out for spies. Twitch has his hackles up, barking and snapping at a silver graffiti outline of a opossum. Mikey recognizes it as a Patronus, the preferred agent of graffiti spying for the Westside Hufflepunks. The opossum hisses as Twitch gets a hold of its ankle.

“Kill it,” comes the deep growl of Jarl Elfbane, sounding like nothing less than the lead singer of a death metal band. Mikey hurries to obey.

With a shaking hand the half-orc pulls out a fat red marker, and crosses over the opossum with three quick slashes, performing the somatic component of the spell, and the patronus is gone. Twitch stops barking.

Prezident Jarl leans back in his seat again, and Mikey lets out a tense breath.  

***

In recognition of the heroism and sacrifice of Kuzuru of the Ashen Blades, a sacrifice that which saved the lives of countless Omniversians, and as a token of respect to all the Ashen Blades, the Westside hereby awards the 1000 OM bounty on Kuzuru to the Ashen Blades, paid to Kuzuru.

In an attempt to get a few new people voting, I'm increasing the voting rewards a bit

The old rewards are such:

Quote:7-13 times: You get 100 OM.
14-23 times: You get 200 OM.
24+ times: You get 300 OM.
Every day: You get 300 OM, and a fistbump from me for being so damn diligent.

Okay, so I'm gonna be writing Hijiri doing a whole bunch of stuff in Tier Five, ostensibly on behalf of the Empire, and I'm not clear on exactly how they would respond to whatever he does, so I'm creating this thread as a place to ask those questions as they arise.

And here's the first of them now:
I've recently made a few posts in Coruscant & the Dataverse mentioning an upcoming recruitment campaign Hijiri and my NPCs are planning on running. OOC, these recruits are going to be used primarily to represent the guards of his Base... when I eventually get around to building my own, rather than just living in some random stormtrooper barracks, as he's doing now... and possibly they'll end up being used as Forces as well, once that gets added...

IC, though, I'm still representing them as actual stormtroopers, who will be being hired without official permission from the Empire. Currently my plan is to make the higher ups basically feel like it doesn't matter, because it's just in Tier Five, which they clearly don't care about... but also to make them refuse to pay the new guys, since there was no official permission to hire them (which will be used to explain why they end up being more loyal to him than to the official Imperial command structure; since he's the one paying them). Also, I'm having an NPC do some 'off-screen' diplomacy stuff to persuade her superiors that it's not important... for what little that's worth...

So, is that a fairly accurate way to depict their opinions? Or should I have them immediately arresting my characters for breaking rules? Or something else entirely?

Name: The Borg
Spent OM: 5400
Consumed OM: 1100 (Items)
Proficiencies (2000): Physical Strength (1000), Ranged Proficiency (1000)
Powers (2000/8000): Survival (2000)
Moves (300): Hand Augment – Shiv (300)
Super Moves (0):
Transformations (0):
Assists (0):
Items: Communicator, Mobile Dataverse Device, Vita Compass
Artefacts:
Bases:
Unlocks (0):
Base stats:
ATK: 4
DEF: 2
SPD: 1
TEC: 3

Species 5618

The white faded.

As the light subsided, the creature that now lay draped across the fountain breathed out a hoarse gasp of air as its eyes snapped open.

If Borg screamed, that would have been the response the entity would have had to what it now encountered.

And no, it wasn’t the unnatural, pure-white world into which it awoke. No, it wasn’t the collection of other alien entities that milled around the place. No, it wasn’t the mechanized machine spewing blue-green water up into the air.

It was the silence.

The Borg drone’s head was empty.

What had once been yet another receptacle for the will and mind of the Borg Collective was… quiet. Even more unnerving, the Borg drone that rasped and wheezed along the fountain had its own thoughts.

Where am… I? Where are we?

What is this?

Where is this?

Am I deactivated?

Have the Borg been destroyed?

More than anything else, that final thought hung hard and heavy in the forefront of the drone’s thought space. If the Collective did not speak to it, then either the Collective was no more or the drone had been deactivated and its consciousness shunted to some… hell?

“Can’t hear them…”

The Borg clenched its fists around the edges of the gray metallic fountain. It was a gesture of desperation more than frustration. An entire existence among the many, and now there was silence in its head. In its mind.

The order of the many had vanished, leaving behind the chaos of the individual.

“We are Borg,” the drone whispered as it lifted its head. The blue-green waters that frothed and bubbled in the fountain calmed long enough for the Borg to see its visage. Red eye. Gray skin. The dull steel of the implants.

We are still Borg.

Yet… there was something that felt off.

Pain where it should not be felt.

The Collective would help it. The Collective would cure it. Provide guidance. Provide… comfort.

But now this drone was alone. Only one voice. Only one mind.

The silence was maddening.

“Unacceptable,” it whispered as it tried to will its form into action. Despite their augmentations, its legs moved slowly. Was there too much weight on the organic systems?

The drone used the fountain as a crutch to reach a fully erect stance. Even upright, it felt pressure—great and nearly crushing pressure—upon its physical structure.

The exo-plating. Too heavy.

Only five digits worked. The other set was a broken implement of some kind. Had this drone been a mechanic? A medical worker? Those digits that worked scraped at the exo-plating. It still knew where the segments were located. They popped with terrible, rasping hisses as the plating slid from its gray form, revealing old clothes the drone had worn long before it had joined the we.

The pressure abated. Organic joints moved freely as the plates were removed. The lower half of its left arm—a tangled of half-formed mechanical implements, fell from the rest of its biomass. The drone lifted the gray stump up to its face and felt a twisting in its digestive track.

Weak.

Why am I so frail.

“No,” the drone shook its head. “We are still the we.”

The old Collective had been destroyed.

Now it was the Borg Collective. Its single voice must become the voice of the many. It would restore the Borg.

It would revive the many voices that had fallen silent.

The single would birth the many.

The Borg would rise once more.

The drone looked around. Its ocular implant had died, leaving it with only the organic eye to rely upon for vision. Even with frail vision, it could still see shapes in the distance. Doors? Windows? How much lay beyond the white? The Borg stumbled away, leaving behind the discarded pieces of itself as it tried to rely upon atrophied organics to usher it from the fountain. It passed other entities as it lurched and stumbled into the white. It paid them no heed, and they likewise ignore its passage from the region.

By the time it could start to see the definition of the structures on the horizon, the Borg’s legs had ceased to creak and throb. Muscle memories had kicked in. It would recover.

The Borg would recover.

The drone looked back over its shoulder at the entities that lingered by the fountain. It knew that they would possess traits beneficial to the Borg, but at this moment, it could not engage them. But it would remember them.

They would be assimilated. In time, all would be assimilated.

“Resistance is futile,” the Borg whispered as it passed through the gate.